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Illusions reign supreme in this summer of moral rectitude. Both Donald Trump and his opponents celebrate the glories of American exceptionalism, although they greatly differ on what that means. Broadly, the idea of “exceptionalism” holds that the United States is so superior to other states and cultures that it has the right to lecture any nation on its behavior. To Trump, America is an example of a successful nation because it allows people to go as far as their talents or connections can take them.
But both of these interpretations are somewhat limited. Many Democratic views rest on the ideas of Thomas Paine, widely available in his 1776 pamphlet Common Sense. Paine, who was a recent immigrant of questionable character, inveighed against his former country, Great Britain. He denounced George III as a tyrant, although the King was the most respectful of parliament. Paine denounced monarchies as tyrannies, even though Britain was the most liberty-loving of the European states.
As well, he made distinctions that raised not a few eyebrows. “Society is produced by our wants and government by our wickedness,” Paine asserted, “the former promotes our happiness positively by uniting our affections, the latter negatively by restraining our vices.” Paine, in a rhetorical flourish that was universal: “Freedom hath…been hunted around the globe. Asia and Africa have long expelled her. Europe regards her as a stranger, and England hath given her warning to depart. Oh! Receive the fugitive and prepare in time an asylum for mankind.”
Whether Trump would approve of “an asylum” for the weary is a matter of conjecture. Americans love to see their legacy as the Statue of Liberty, and the Declaration of Independence's “All men are created equal,” but these were not always agreed upon. John Adams was no fan of this utopian rhetoric, but he appreciated the propaganda. He liked Common Sense as a product of Paine’s “yellow fever.” Adams described the mass of people as the “common herd of mankind.” George Washington derided the “grazing multitude,” demonstrating his suspicion of Paine’s democratic radicalism. But Paine was useful, and after all, Common Sense sold 150,000 copies.
After the Constitution was ratified, all these fine sentiments disappeared or nearly so. Paine himself grew so disillusioned that he went to France and wrote a work extolling the French Revolution. While he was there, he wrote the Rights of Man, then fled when the Jacobins lost interest in Paine’s version of infantile leftism. As for Thomas Jefferson’s “all men are created equal”, it did nothing to end slavery, and needless to say, John Adams did not “remember the ladies” as his wife Abigail had requested in 1776.
Moreover, Alexander Hamilton created a state that ensconced the wealthy in power. There is a good reason why Hamilton merited a statue on Wall Street. Certainly, the practicalities of government diluted Paine-style radicalism. But the United States remembers its idealism only when it needs an excuse to intervene in foreign affairs.
When war threatens, usually, Conservatives in domestic affairs become dewy-eyed idealists when they want to intervene. Liberals, who are more likely to believe in universal peace, are just as likely to embrace Paine’s formula as a justification for saving other nations from themselves, whether they want it or not. Interventionism is the tie that binds “American exceptionalists,” whether they be Democrats or Republicans.